Teach Us To Care
by LittleElf1
Summary: 'Will caring about them save them' 'Nope.' 'Then I'll continue not to make that mistake.' Will Sherlock ever learn to care?
1. Chapter 1

Sherlock looked over the top of his laptop at John, who had deposited a cup of tea beside Sherlock's hand and was now shrugging on his coat.

'Where are you going?' Sherlock asked curiously.

'To see a patient.' John replied, zipping his jacket.

'It's seven o'clock.' Sherlock said, just in case his friend was unaware of his obvious mistake.

'I know. She's at St. Bart's.'

'You don't work there.' Sherlock responded, closing his laptop.

'I know.' John pulled his scarf on and stuffed his hands into his pockets. 'But she was admitted last week, and I want to see how she's doing.'

Sherlock nodded. 'What a good doctor you are!' He commented as John gave him a half-smile and left.

John located the room of his patient and knocked gently before pushing the door wide and entering.

'Doctor Watson!' his patient said warmly.

'Hi Amy.' John responded, moving closer to the bed. 'I hope you don't mind me coming to see you, but I wanted to check on how you were doing.'

'Of course I don't mind.' She replied smiling brightly. 'You're probably the only GP in England to still care about his patients.'

John smiled at the flattery and took a seat in the chair beside her bed. 'So, how're you feeling?'

'Not too bad.' Amy said, with an unconvincing smile. 'Although, the room service here is a bit rubbish, _and_ it's full of sick people!' she laughed gently.

John smiled, despite himself, and raised his eyebrows. He could see how ill she was without having to ask. The combination of cancer and chemotherapy had ravished her young body of its natural voluptuousness and had robbed her of her hair. Though her blue eyes were bright, John was a good enough doctor to see that she was masking the pain. 'Really?' he asked.

'Alright.' She conceded. 'I feel tired, and achy.'

'Do you have something for the pain?'

'Yes, but it's not working too well.'

John stood and went to the end of her bed. He hooked her chart off the rail and flicked it open.

'Who's your friend?' She asked suddenly, startling John from his reading.

'W-what?'

'Your friend?' she nodded to the door.

John frowned and turned around. 'Oh for…' He covered the floor between them quickly. 'Sherlock! What the hell are you doing here?'

'I was curious. You never make house calls, or even hospital calls.' Sherlock said simply.

'So? She is still a patient of mine, and you shouldn't be here!'

'I was bored.' Sherlock replied.

John raised his eyes heavenward and let out a frustrated sigh. He turned back to Amy; 'I am so sorry. This is Sherlock Holmes, my flatmate.'

'Pleasure.' Amy said. 'You're not a doctor, then.'

'No.' Sherlock responded.

'Dabble in chemistry, though?'

Sherlock's eyebrows contracted.

'Iodine on your hands, and litmus paper sticking out of your pocket.' Amy commented quietly.

Sherlock smiled.

'Amy,' John said, leaving Sherlock in the doorway, 'I'm going to see if I can get you sorted with some better pain relief. I won't be a moment.'

'OK.' She said. 'Thanks.'

'Come on, Sherlock, you can wait for me out here.' John said as he turned and went to leave.

'He can stay.' Amy said slowly. 'If he wants.'

John looked back at her.

'I haven't had many visitors.' She added by way of explanation.

'Alright.' John said and to Sherlock he raised his eyebrows. Sherlock smiled again and walked further into the room. 'I'll be back in a moment.' John said and left the room.

There was a pause as Sherlock examined the monitors beside Amy's bed with his hand clasped firmly behind his back, as if he daren't let them free lest he start experimenting with curious dials and knobs.

'So do you always follow Doctor Watson around when you get bored?' Amy asked.

Sherlock surveyed her for a moment and then said; 'Sometimes.' He sat in the chair John had vacated.

'Do you get bored often?'

'Sometimes.' Sherlock about the room, taking in the subtle green shade of the paint and the matching curtains at the window. 'You are on chemotherapy.'

'Yes.' She replied, with a small chuckle, running her hand across the smoothness of her head. 'What gave me away?'

Sherlock half-smiled. 'Leukaemia.'

'Yes.'

Sherlock watched her face carefully. 'You've had it before. It came back.'

'Yes.' Amy smiled again.

'You lied to John. You haven't had _any_ visitors, except him.'

Amy's delighted smile continued. 'And now you.'

'Your parents died when you were young, and your aunt, who raised you, died recently.' He watched her carefully. 'You didn't like your aunt.'

'No. I didn't.'

Sherlock liked that she was not confused or angry about his ability to read her like a book. In fact, she seemed thrilled by it, and she smiled serenely at him for while.

'That was brilliant.' She said finally. 'Well done you.'

He smiled warmly at the praise. As he was about to reply, John returned with Amy's chart.

'OK, Amy, all sorted. Your other doctor will be round soon to update your medication.' He said and slipped the chart back in its place.

'Thanks, Doc.' Amy said.

'Come on, Sherlock.' John said. 'We should let you have some sleep.'

Sherlock stood and moved to the door.

'You can come back.' She said to them. 'If you want. If you get bored.' She added.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi, this is my first fanfic, please read and review. I meant to put this on Chapter One, but as it's my first experience with the old publishing online story lark, I'm not quite sure how this thingy works yet. Anyhoo, I hope you like it! x  
**

'John,' Sherlock whispered as he hovered above Amy's bed, 'why is she so pale?'

'Because she is ill, Sherlock.' John said as he read her chart, his forehead furrowed in irritation.

Sherlock frowned at his friend and sat down in the chair beside Amy's bed. He pulled the chair closer to the bed and watched her laboured breathing. 'She's breathing funny, John.' he said.

John looked up from her notes. 'Hmm, she'll do that.' He said distractedly, turning back to the notes. 'Sherlock, I'm just going to go and…' he mumbled as he wandered out of the room.

Sherlock smiled, glad for the privacy: not that he minded John being there, Amy was his patient after all, but Sherlock felt a little embarrassed about what he was about to do.

He pulled his chair even closer and lent his head so it was almost level with Amy's ear.

'Hi Amy.' He began. 'I came back. Guess I was bored. Plus, Mrs Hudson has taken my skull and...' he paused. 'Well, obviously not _my_ skull. I guess I should start at the beginning.' Sherlock smiled to himself, hearing his own words back.

'I guess you better had.' Amy croaked, her eyes fluttering open a fraction.

'You heard that?'

'If it makes you feel better, you're very cute.'

Sherlock frowned.

'In a strange way.' Amy added with a poor attempt at a smile.

Sherlock grinned. He kind of liked that.

'So, the skull?' Amy prompted, closing her eyes.

Sherlock's smiled widened and he settled himself back in his chair.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks to everyone who has taken the time to read my story. Hope you're liking it! :)**

Doctor John Watson had received a phone call at six o'clock from St. Bart's to inform him that his patient, Amy Farringdon, was in a critical condition and if he would like to see her, now was the time. Of course, John had left 221b Baker Street immediately, but Sherlock had been first out the door.

They sat in her room on either side of the bed. She was asleep, and despite Sherlock's less than subtle attempts, she did not stir at their presence.

They had been there for three hours, just watching and listening, the _beep-beep-beep_ of the monitor's reassuring them. Sherlock was lent forward, his elbows on his knees, fingers steepled and resting on his mouth. He watched her chest rise and fall so slowly, so painfully slowly. Up and down, up and down, up and… there was a pause in her breathing, and Sherlock sits blot upright, his long, slender hand finding her small one.

'John!' he said, in a panicked whisper, standing up.

John looked over and stood up. He was about to call for the nurse when Amy exhaled, and inhaled. And John and Sherlock did the same and resumed their places beside her bed.

John drifted in and out of sleep. But Sherlock remained ever watchful. He was unsure why he felt so attached to this woman. It confused him, and in strange way delighted him. She had always taken him exactly as he was. He liked that she never questioned his ability to read her, and he liked that she was so calm and level-headed about her condition. In just over a week, he had become as attached to her as he was to John. As he watched, and waited, he replaced his hand over hers.

Eventually, Sherlock's silent vigil gave way to uneasy sleep, draped semi-elegantly over the visitor's chair.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks to all who are reading! And to LittlePippin76 who has reviewed! :)**

The soft, grey light of the early morning London sky filters in through the thin, green curtains at the window. As the light becomes more insistent, Sherlock stirs in his chair. His neck feels stiff, and for a moment before he opens his eyes, he imagines that he has dozed off in his favourite armchair in Baker Street. Of course, he is not. He straightens up in the hospital chair and rubs his eyes. John is not in the room. Probably getting coffee, Sherlock thinks.

It is only then that he notices Amy. Bundled in hospital blankets and lying very still, she blinks at him.

'You're still here.' She croaks.

'So are you.' He replies, his voice cracking, half from lack of use and half from relief. 'I didn't think you'd wake up.'

'You're still here!' she repeats and smiles, her pale lips drawing a thin line across her face.

'I didn't want you to be alone. People shouldn't… go alone, if they can help it.' Sherlock tells her as he looks out of the window.

'Thank you.' She says, her voice growing in strength. 'I think though, Sherlock Holmes, that I won't be going anywhere soon.'

He smiles, he laughs; 'Good,' he says, 'because coming to the hospital to see you all the time is getting a little bit boring.'

'I'll have to accompany my skull to see you at the infamous 221b Baker Street.'

She smiles and tries to laugh, but she's still too weak to manage it. But just the thought of laughing with her new friend raises her heartbeat and brings the tiniest amount of colour to her cheeks. No one else would've noticed, but Sherlock Holmes, who notices everything, sees and revels in it.


	5. Chapter 5

John and Sherlock leave the hospital late that day, tired, but as elated as they had been each time they had solved a case together.

'You were wrong, John.' Sherlock says suddenly. '_Again_.' He adds, with a small, gloating smile.

'Really? What about now?' John asks wearily.

'You said it that caring doesn't help to save people.'

'I did?'

'Yes.' Sherlock stops and looks at John squarely in the face. 'I asked you if caring would help save those people Moriaty strapped bombs to.'

John frowned as he tried to recollect the argument.

'And you said: 'No.'' Sherlock said. 'Remember?'

'Yes.' John sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

'You were wrong. Caring about Amy saved her.'

'How?' John asked.

'She has a reason to live.' Sherlock explained. 'You're a doctor, you know a person's pyschological condition can make a difference with recovery.'

'Yes, in a few cases.'

'Amy is one of those few cases.'

John thought about that. 'She's displaying only the first signs of remission, Sherlock, she's got a very long way to go. The cancer may still return, in fact, I would say, probably return.' He says sadly.

'Yes, but for now, she is living. She is saved. Because she realised there are things worth living for, things worth fighting for.' Sherlock smiles. He rather pleased about this, about saving one more life. He wonders if this might be making him into what John would refer to as a 'hero'. He shakes his head at this, still smiling.

John smiles too, and they head towards Baker Street. 'You know,' John says slowly as a smirk plays about his mouth, 'that means that _you_ were wrong, too.'

Sherlock looks down at the older man, his expression unreadable. They stare at each other for a moment and then John laughs and Sherlock joins him. It is an infectious, careless laugh; the kind of laugh that they first shared after chasing the cabbie across London; the kind of laugh that makes the stomach ache and the eyes water; the kind of laugh that binds souls together.

'Chinese?' Sherlock gasps between giggles, smiling with his friend.

'Definitely.' John agrees and they head towards their favourite haunt.

And as they walk together, Sherlock marvels at the new friend he has gained and the friendship he has strengthened. And John wonders whether Sherlock has learnt something profound today. He wonders, too, if Sherlock himself has been saved. And maybe, just maybe, the great man is turning into a good one.

The End

**"Teach us to care and not to care, teach us to sit still." - T S Eliot**


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